


"...the names of our dead"

by EdwardNotSoLittle



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Gen, terror bingo 2019
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:54:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22048945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EdwardNotSoLittle/pseuds/EdwardNotSoLittle
Summary: Instead of going back with Lady Silence right away. Francis takes the time to bury those lost properly.Terror Bingo:Angst
Comments: 4
Kudos: 16
Collections: The Terror Bingo (2019)





	"...the names of our dead"

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING TISSUES NEEDED!!!

As Francis approached what remained of Terror camp, he felt a wave of absolute dread seep into his bones, turning them numb much like the frigid cold of this barren tundra had done so long ago.

Where was everyone? The boats? Wait… was that…?

The sight of a lone figure lying prone upon the shale in front of one of the tattered abandoned tents made him quicken his pace, forgetting Lady Silence for the moment as he rushed towards the sailor. 

He skid to an abrupt halt when he was but five feet from the man, his boots sending shale skittering a few good inches further.

_’Oh…’_

Blue eyes began to burn as they filled rapidly with tears, his throat struggled to swallow correctly as emotion welled within it, having to swallow several times just to relieve the uncomfortable pressure. 

That dark hair… 

Jopson. 

It was his steward, Thomas Jopson. 

No… Third Lieutenant Thomas Jopson. 

_’Oh, lad… not you…’_

Silently, he sank to his knees beside the body of a man that he'd met when he was still just a boy growing into a young man.  
_______________________________________________________________________________

**October 5th, 1839**

_______________________________________________________________________________

The rapping of knuckles upon the closed great cabin door had him raising his attention from the charts he was studying with an intense focus. 

He found the knock in question to be rather soft, polite even, very unlike any of his lieutenants under his command aboard the H.M.S Terror. 

“Come.” he gruffed his permission for entry, before casting his gaze back down at the charts. 

The door rattled on its track as it was slid open, and he had to admit the lack of heavy booted foot falls upon entry had him furrowing his brow.

Glancing up from the charts again with a huff of annoyance, said annoyance quickly disappearing however once blue eyes took in the sight before him. 

It wasn't his second Archibald McMurdo, nor an officer for that matter. No, the individual who stood just before the sliding door looked more ship's boy than anything. 

He was young looking, quite young in fact. Black fussy hair that had clearly an attempt to part it to the side but it seemed rather uneven and was coming loose. Bright pale hazel eyes that seemed to border on the edge of very faint pale green in the light, rather tall and scrawny, baby-faced and a still developing jaw. 

All wide eyes and nervous body and tense jaw he was silent as he stared.

There were a couple seconds more of silence before the lad startled out of nowhere.

“Oh! Er… apologies, sir, ah… Thomas Jopson, I'm to be your steward on the expedition…” 

He eyed the lad in silence for a time, and the longer the silence dragged on, the more panicked the boy's expression became. 

Any other person, he knew, he'd be annoyed by the lack of confidence while being spoken to, but the lad was just too damn adorable, staring at him like was about to eat him.

Francis couldn't help it, he snorted before starting to laugh softly. 

The young man's face lit up with a blush and he lost it, his mild fit of laughter turning into a hearty one.

“Good Christ, you're a shy one.” he commented once he'd settled himself. 

Jopson let out an abashed laugh himself, the left corner of his mouth lifting into a polite little half-smile. “Nervous, sir.” 

Crozier nodded in agreement, “Aye, I can see that.” 

The awkward silence that followed was smothering, and finally he turned his attention back to his charts while Jopson stood read for orders.

“Please, Mr Jopson have a seat.” he told him.

The boy hesitated for a few moments before eventually moving to the great cabin table and settling himself in one of the chairs. 

Commander Crozier quickly decided that he wasn't going to work him too hard the first day, not with how jittery he so clearly was, heaven forbid the lad drop the bottles of spirits rather than pour them.

He would however try to get to become more acquainted, perhaps it would ease the boy's nerves. 

“I must confess, you look younger than any steward I have seen.” he voiced as he scanned the maps. 

“Oh.. uhm, yes, sir.” he said pushing an errant lock of hair from his forehead. 

The young man's hesitancy had him quirking an eyebrow at the map. 

“How old are you, Jopson?” 

Pale hazel eyes blinked a couple times before the words registered, “Eighteen, sir.”

Francis peered up at him from the charts momentarily letting out a small, “Ah,” and then cast his focus back to the papers. “, you are a young lad.” 

_______________________________________________________________________________

 **Present**  
_______________________________________________________________________________

He still had been a young man when he drew his last breath. 

**”The men are behind you, sir. Very much behind you.”**

Jopson's unwavering devotion, fierce loyalty, his unconditionally loving heart and the kindness that he'd displayed time and time again… even in the times he'd deserved none of it… 

_‘I failed you, I am so, so very sorry my boy.’_

Using his remaining hand, he pushed the ever familiar errant lock of hair from the man's face, he'd always hated his hair in his eyes. 

His skin was so cold, it was obvious it would be, he'd clearly been here for a while, yet still the icy feel of death upon the young man's skin sent tears dripping down his cheeks.  
_______________________________________________________________________________ 

**October 21st, 1839**  
_______________________________________________________________________________

The first couple weeks had passed with quite a number of awkward encounters. 

First the lad continued to report when called with his hair parted crooked, cravat not quite tied straight… and as he watched the lad polish the cutlery across the room he finally couldn't take it. 

Sighing, he set down his ink pen, “Jopson.” he called the boy's name. 

Jopson looked up from his task with bright eyes, “Sir,” 

He motioned at him, “Come here, lad. “

Young Thomas blinked idly before he began to trod over to his desk and coming to a stop upon reaching him. 

“Is there something I can do for you, sir?”

Francis rose from his chair and dragged it around to the other side of the mahogany furniture, gesturing Jopson to sit. 

“Please, lad, at ease.” 

The boy looked skeptical, “Have I done something to upset you, sir?”

_`Oh for Christ's sake!`_

“Jopson.” 

“Sir?” 

“Sit down.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

That's exactly what he did too, looking nervous the whole time. 

“Stay right here.” he instructed softly, turning and making his way to his bed cabin. 

He wandered over to the was basin in the corner of the room to retrieve his comb before heading back out, snatching up the small hand mirror on one of the shelves as he went. 

The lad was exactly where he left him, and he stared with soaring anxiety as his Captain approached. 

“Sir?”

“Your part, son. I can't take it anymore.” he confessed, running the comb through the lad’s hair. 

His steward turned as red as a tomato at the words, “Sorry, sir… I thought it was up to standard.”

“Aye, it is, mayhaps for an AB. However, as a petty officer, expectations are higher, stewards especially so.” 

It didn't take him long to fix the mess and he set the comb down on the table and lifted his chin with a gentle hand.

“There, now you'll have all the lasses swooning after you upon our return home. Hm?” he teased with Irish brogue coming thick off his tongue and a tooth gapped grin. 

Jopson’s face flushed a rosy red but he did smile, a large beaming smile that showed off prominent dimples. 

“Of course, sir, thank you, for sharing your romantic expertise.” he replied cheekily . 

The unexpected sense of humor in the lad made the comment all the more ridiculous and outright hilarious to the Irishman and it wasn't long before he was roaring with a fit of laughter that Jopson soon joined in on. 

His steward’s laugh was a polite one, not obnoxious like a certain Yorkshire man serving as Terror’s Ice Master. No, it was mildly quite, switching between small titters and the faintest of giddy giggles, occasionally reaching a throaty chuckle. 

The one thing that remained a constant was the boy's dimples. 

For some reason the sight of the small indents made the warmth and joy all the more intense and he felt an almost… paternal fondness welling in his chest. 

After they had composed themselves, Jopson finally looked up at him with an embarrassed, apologetic half-smile. 

“Forgive me, sir, that was unkind of me. I meant no disrespect to your personal life.” 

Francis chuckled as he clapped a hand on Jopson’s shoulder, smiling cordially.

“Son, if only you knew.“

As soon as the words were spoken they both broke out into another series of giggles.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy New Year my fellow bastards of the sea!!!


End file.
